


Come, let me clutch thee

by Nary



Category: Slings & Arrows
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Comedy, Drunk Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Public Sex, Shakespeare, Soliloquy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-16
Updated: 2010-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 23:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Macbeth's dagger is a phallic symbol."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come, let me clutch thee

"Macbeth's dagger is a phallic symbol."

Geoffrey's drunk enough to actually sit and listen to Darren's monologue instead of leaving, but not quite so drunk that he'll wind up vomiting on that ridiculous leopard-print blouse he's wearing, tempting though that thought is. Instead, he just says, "Oh, really?"

"Certainly. The Shakespearean canon is positively _rife_ with them. It's only natural, given the bard's own poorly-suppressed homoerotic desires. Take Yorick's skull, for instance. A phallic symbol, but inverted – symbolizing the death of Hamlet's libido."

Geoffrey nods politely, trying not to think about Oliver's head as a phallic symbol. "What about Lear?" he asks, to change the subject.

Darren's not deterred, not even for a minute. "Oh, come on, Geoffrey, the entire storm sequence is essentially a fifteen-minute ejaculation."

"Of course. Why didn't I think of that?"

Darren shrugs blithely. "You lack my depth of vision."

"That must be it," says Geoffrey dryly.

"Now that you mention it, I _did_ have a flash of inspiration about the dagger soliloquy that might help with your current, ah, difficulties."

_This should be good for a laugh._ "Do tell."

"Very well." Darren clears his throat, and Geoffrey figures he's getting ready to soliloquize, but then he leans over and slings an arm around his shoulder so that his mouth is almost against his ear. "Macbeth is masturbating during the entire thing."

Considering he can't even persuade Henry to take off his shirt for his arrival home in Act 1, Scene 5, Geoffrey doesn't imagine this staging suggestion would go over well, but he manages to nod and convey how very… _interesting_ he finds this proposal, because it's so fucking hilarious that he wants to hear the rest of it.

"Think about it," Darren continues tipsily. _"Is this a dagger which I see before me, the handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!"_ And his hand comes down hard on Geoffrey's thigh, sliding up to the join of his legs. _"I have thee not, and yet I see thee still. Art thou not, fatal vision, insensible to feeling as to sight?"_ He's fumbling with Geoffrey's fly, and Geoffrey's too shocked to move and, weirdly, kind of enjoying it. _"Or art thou but a dagger of the mind, a false creation, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain?,"_ Darren continues, moving to straddle him with surprising grace, and now Geoffrey knows he's trapped, but hell, everyone else at the party is either doing the same thing or passed out, so it's not as if anyone's going to notice. And he knows what's coming next, and knows that somewhere, Oliver is enjoying this very much.

_"I see thee yet,"_ Darren murmurs against his cheek, _"in form as palpable as this which now I draw."_ And draw he does, extricating his cock smoothly from the confines of his... what the hell do you call those pants Englishmen wear to go fox-hunting? Those, anyway, and he's pressed close against Geoffrey, both of them so damn hard, and if Ellen were here she'd kill herself laughing, but he doesn't much care what Ellen thinks right now, he just wants to get off, even if it means enduring Darren's terrible acting.

_"Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going, and such an instrument was I to use,"_ says Darren, wrapping one hand around Geoffrey and the other around himself and moving them in unison, quick and rough, none of this 'starting slow' bullshit. Geoffrey sort of wishes he'd suck him off so he wouldn't have to listen to the rest of the damn speech, but he does, all the way through the gouts of blood on the blade and dudgeon, the wicked dreams abuse, mmm yes, Tarquin's ravishing strides, and words – unnhh – to the heat of deeds, oh fucking Christ, he's coming into Darren's – _Darren's!_ – hand, and somehow Darren can keep talking through his own orgasm, and why is he not surprised by that? _"I go,"_ he chokes out,_ "and it is done,"_ and throws his head back dramatically as he comes, shuddering violently and ensuring that Geoffrey's sweater will have to be dry-cleaned.

"Yeah," Geoffrey says awkwardly afterwards, "I'm not sure that'll work with my, ah, vision of the play."

Darren nods, pats him on the shoulder, almost sympathetic for once. "It's too daring for you, perhaps. I'll save it for my own version."


End file.
